


Music of the Night

by KethriHolmes



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Other, Phantom of the Opera - Freeform, and daggers, and magic, and probably some smut, because I'm weak, relationship tag may change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9796496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KethriHolmes/pseuds/KethriHolmes
Summary: Hawke is invited to sing at the Chateau de Chagny, but what was supposed to be a weekend away, terrorizing some nobles and wearing pretty dresses, turns into a disaster when Hawke gets kidnapped, people keep winding up dead, and monsters threaten to ruin Hawke's brand new evening gowns. So basically, a Tuesday.





	1. Prologue

“Holy shit!”

“Maker, those eyes...”

“Is that a woman or a ghost?”

Devlan Hawke walked across the first floor of the tavern and up the stairs followed by whispers. It was a miracle she didn’t send the entire place up in flames. Really, the only thing stopping her was that Isabela and Varric would have to find a new place to haunt if she did.

“Don’t pay any attention to them, Snowflake,” Varric said when she flopped down next to him with a huff. For some reason the icy name didn’t hurt from him. It was soft, unlike “ice princess” or “ghost eyes.”

“I bet it’s the eyeliner,” Devlan answered with a laugh.

Varric shrugged. “Maybe it’s the tattoo.” She had tattoos across her forehead and chin, dark ones with lots of lines.

“Probably doesn’t help.” She sat up. She had dealt for years with people being off-put by the combination of her platinum blonde hair, deathly pale skin, and eyes so light a grey they were almost white. It had finally gotten to the point where she could stop herself from punching the whisperer in the jaw...a solid fifty percent of the time. It was an improvement. “So, what did you want to see me about?”

Varric leaned back and smiled. “I’m glad you asked.” Devlan rolled her eyes.”Alright, alright. We’re close to the fifty gold we need to convince Bartrand, and I think I’ve found the job to put us over the edge. I think it’s right up your alley.” Varric grinned at her and raised his eyebrows. “Want to mess with some nobles and spend a few nights dressed like a queen?”

Devlan matched his grin and her eyes held just a hint of chaos. “Do tell,” she said, leaning back in her chair and taking a large swig of ale. Varric, a true kindred spirit, always had the best plans that created the most fun.

“Well, we’ve been invited to the Chateau de Chagny on behalf of a Monsieur Erik Leroux. He heard about your beautiful singing voice and wants you to perform at a three day ball being held by the Vicomte de Chagny.”

Devlan was taken aback. “My...singing voice?”

Varric leaned back and looked at her. “You sing here at the Hanged Man all the time.”

She shook her head. “Sure, but that’s just to make a little extra money. I’m not good enough that an Orlesian noble would have heard of me. Who would have told this Monsieur Leroux about a silly girl who sings in a pub anyways?”

“Well, someone did,” Varric said with a shrug. “Their tale must have been impressive enough to catch his attention, so it must have been some high praise.” Devlan blushed, a small amount of rosiness gracing her porcelain cheeks. “Regardless, he has agreed to pay for passage and lodging for you and any you wish to travel with you, and will also pay for your wardrobe all three days.”

Devlan whistled. “That’s some hospitality, especially since he’s never seen me, or heard me sing. The person who told him must be extra trustworthy.” She stood and put her hands on her hips. “Sounds like and adventure.” She beamed at him. “You in?”

Varric joined her in standing. “Snowflake, I’m already halfway packed.”


	2. Overture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Devlan and the gang arrive in Orlais and things don't go as smoothly as they'd hoped. There's some annoying people, a temper tantrum, and some thoughts of murder. Enjoy.

The next morning, Devlan met up at the docks with a few choice members of her friends. Varric, of course, was there. She hardly ever went anywhere without him. She had also snagged Isabela, who was excited for both the trip by sea, even if it was short, and the prospect of all the nobles to steal from. And lastly, she had dragged along Fenris, and it definitely wasn’t because she was trying to get into his pants. She knew that, as a mage, she had absolutely no chance whatsoever, but he hadn’t immediately thrown her out of a window when she had flirted with him the last time she visited his manor, so maybe...

She shook her head and smoothed out her skirt. Now wasn’t the time to think about things like that. Now was the time to have a little fun and make a little money. She and Varric had together haggled for some dresses that would look nice and fit in with the nobility without setting them back too much. The one she wore now was a deep red that matched her lipstick, with gold trim. Fortunately, since she had somehow managed to run around for the past couple years in mage robes without getting caught by the templars, the skirt wasn’t too drastic of a change. The skirts were a little more flowy and swished across the ground, and she was showing a hell of a lot more breast.

Isabela noticed that last bit immediately as she and Varric waited for Devlan by the ship. “You should wear clothes like this more often,” she said, sidling up to Devlan. “If you did, though,” she whispered, her hot breath falling across Devlan’s ear, “You probably wouldn’t be wearing them around me for very long.”

Devlan laughed and trailed her fingers down Isabela’s equally exposed chest. “Now, now, dear. I’m supposed to be acting like a civilized woman while we’re on this trip.”

Isabela smiled and pulled Devlan in close. “We haven’t left yet. We might have time for a quick romp while we wait for Fenris.”

“No, you don’t,” a gruff voice said behind them. The two girls sighed and peeled apart. Devlan’s heart was with Fenris, but since he was well out of her reach, she wouldn’t say no to a night or two with Isabela...or three. They hadn’t had a chance yet, but with all the flirting they did, it was bound to happen sooner rather than later.

The four of them got onto the boat with their bags. Fenris had to help Devlan with hers since he had packed almost nothing and she had packed multiple dresses for each day, plus all their accessories - a dress to wear during the day, another for dinner, and a final much fancier dress for the performances.

“Thanks,” she said as he set them in her cabin.

“Of course, Hawke,” he said simply before turning and leaving to go to his own room. Devlan huffed. She hated that he called her that. Couldn’t he use her first name like everyone else? The only other one of her friends who still called her Hawke sometimes was Varric, and that was more for dramatic effect than anything else.

Devlan settled into her bed, prepared to spend the majority of the four days it took to get to Val Royeaux reading. Every so often, Isabela would drag her out of hiding to go stand on deck and get splashed with seawater. It was a refreshing change, and she liked the looks that she and Isabela got when they would start making out in front of all those sailors, just for fun. Devlan was a fan of kissing, and had gotten a bit of a reputation for it. She’d never go much further, but she’d kiss just about anyone, especially if she was drunk.

Finally, they came to the port in Val Royeaux. Varric took over in leading them to the Chateau, which was about an hour’s walk outside the city. Devlan was starting to regret her dress just a little bit - it wasn’t nearly as easy to walk in as her robes or as cool.

They were greeted in the main entrance hall by Monsieurs Firmin and Andre. “Yes? What can we do for you?”

Varric stepped forward, holding the invitation. “This is Miss Devlan Hawke of Kirkwall, sers. She was invited here to sing.”

“I’m sorry,” Monsieur Firmin said, handing the letter back, “But we already have a singer. Madame Carlotta, who you can hear practicing in the next room over, was hired by the Vicomte de Chagny as the entertainment for the party.”

“Who are you talking to?” The shrill voice that had been singing up until a moment ago was now walking towards them with outlandishly tall pink hair, too much white makeup, and a gold dress that was...befitting of an Orlesian. The woman looked down her nose at Hawke and her group disdainfully. “Who are these...people?”

“They were just leaving,” Monsieur Firmin assured her.

“We most certainly are not,” Isabela said, stepping in. “Devlan was told that she would be singing at these balls, and we won’t leave until we at least talk to this Erik and find out why he brought us here.”

But the woman, Carlotta, wasn’t listening. She had stopped listening when Isabela had finished saying ‘told that she would be singing.’

“You...you hired another singer?” She screeched, rounding on Firmin and Andre. They cowered away from her.

“N-no, of course not, m-m-my lady,” Andre stammered, taking a step back.

“You are trying to replace me with this...this filth!”

“We would never!” Firmin replied, but Carlotta appeared to be hearing none of it.

“I cannot believe this. Well, you clearly don’t need me. And I certainly don’t need you. I am the most sought after singer in all of Orlais. Indeed, in all of Thedas!” She glared at Devlan. “Do enjoy your...half rate entertainment.” And then she stormed out, trailed by no less than twenty-six attendants who had heard her cacophony and come out to see what was the matter.

Fenris relaxed his grip on his sword. ‘Lady Carlotta’ had a face and voice that made him want to kill things. He might have to talk to Hawke or go into Val Royeaux himself to see if anyone was hiring. It was such a huge city. There had to be something.

Firmin and Andre rounded on Devlan. “Now what are we going to do! You and your, your friends managed to run off the entertainment for a very important ball.”

Devlan stepped forwards, her blue and silver dress whispering across the floor. Varric, who had started to step up to say something, stepped out of her way. She walked right up to the two men. “Messieurs, if you will permit me. I was invited here to sing. I could step in as the entertainment.” There was no way she was going to go all the way back to Kirkwall after this. The money situation she could have figured out, but now her pride was on the line.

They both looked at her skeptically. Whatever judgements they had made about this woman from Kirkwall, they clearly weren’t confident in her abilities. “We don’t even know if you can sing,” Firmin scoffed.

“Well,” Devlan said, suppressing the urge to flick out the daggers that were hidden up her sleeves and stuff them right in Firmin’s face, “There’s one way to find out.” She turned on her heel and strode into the room that Carlotta had been practicing in before her temper tantrum. Her companions, smiling, followed after her and, reluctantly, so did Firmin and Andre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being longer than I expected, but I hardly see that as a problem. I'm going to try to release these on Wednesdays. (Technically I finished this one 8 minutes into Thursday but close enough.) I'm also terrible at schedules for stories, but I manage to stick to one for one of them, so maybe I'll get lucky. Please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions and I'll see you next time. (But not really because not only can I not see you, but I have no actual proof that you're even real.)


End file.
